At the suggestion of my writing mentor, the lovely Chris Votey, I’ve been doing some practice writing short stories. So I’ll be doing a short serial of flash fiction set in the same world as my Kurylian Saga, a book I intend to publish very soon. This practice is meant to get me used to the world again, to get me used to writing short fiction, and to improve my writing in general. Please, let me know if you notice any grueling inconsistancies, or any sort of growth whatsoever. Thank you!

When Eamon asked him to hit her hard, she hadn’t quite anticipated a gauntlet to the back of her head. It sent her reeling, certainly, but it was a credit to her balance that she didn’t end up on her ass. Years of training told her to not waste a moment in combat, and she quickly turned towards her opponent, swinging her practice sword at his shin.

Herod hissed, bouncing on his good foot, shaking the armoured leg she’d managed to strike. The impact caused a noticeable ringing noise. She was pleased, a ring of the armour, for the ringing of her head, she had thought to herself.

She pressed her sudden advantage, and kicked his bouncing leg out from under him. From there it was easy to press her practice sword to his throat.

His eyes confirmed what she already knew. She had finally won against Herod the Giant. The smashing headache caused by his gauntlet disappeared as she tore off her helmet, and only out of respect for where the armor had come from, didn’t toss it to the side. Instead, she set it down next to her, then removed the sword from his throat, and offered her hand to help Herod to his feet. Herod refused, getting himself up. They both went to a bucket filled with water, and dipped their hands in. The pain of their bruises hurt worse in the cold water, but was necessary to their recovery.

“Good show, Lady Eamon,” he stated.

Eamon was surprised. A new title from him. Herod usually called her “Lil Miss”. She gave him a rueful smile. “Near knocked me on my ass, Sir Herod. But I finally did it. I finally had you on your back.”

“Aye, you did,” he acknowledged.

He patted her shoulder the same way her father might have, and her smile grew brighter. She didn’t feel like the fourteen year old squire anymore. She felt twenty feet tall.

“Same time next week then?” she asked.

She had been sparring with Herod for several months now. Before that was Jurin, though Jurin didn’t have the size Herod had. He was wirey and thin. And before him was Minna, stout and quick with a mace. Each one she fought, and each one she bested. She was determined to be a real fighter, like her father.

She swallowed, and kept at bay the tears that threatened to spill. She felt she was ready for the title of Knighthood, but to hear Heroid caused her to choke up a bit. If Herod thought she was ready, surely her father would agree with him. All she had to do was pass the trial, and she would be a Knight of Kuryle, a true defender of the realm. If she could prove her bravery, her mettle in combat, and her valor, then surely they would allow her to be named a Knight.

Here’s a list of my favorite youtubers, organized by what they blog about:

Gaming Youtubers:

Commander Holly – She does lovely let’s plays, and some of the best dating sim games played on youtube are of her and her friends. My favorite part is when she and her friends take turns voicing parts! Here are a few of my favorite let’s plays of hers:

I find sometimes that going back to the days when our autonomy was not our own, but directed by our parents and guardians, can sometimes help out with a mental state. Now, I’m not advocating anything kinky here, I’m talking about being grounded. You see, for the last 27 days, I have been grounded from writing. Yes, you read that correctly. I, a grown woman, allowed myself to be grounded from something I love doing.

However, the reason behind the ‘punishment’ is the important part. You see, I was grounded from writing because I had a very special sort of writer’s block. The kind where you hate everything you write. The kind where you believe it all to be pointless tripe and terrible dribble. The kind where you start to wonder if you’re meant to be a writer in the first place, or if you should just give up and run away to join the circus.

My best friend came up with a solution. “You’re grounded from writing for a month.” She said to me one day after I almost burst into tears for the billionth time over my works-in-progress. Of course, I tried to negotiate. Can I collect prompts? No. Can I blog? No. Can I write down my dreams? No. Damn, that one was hard because most of my story ideas come from dreams I’ve had. I was cut off entirely. No writing, except in a journal.

The first week was a relief. It was like something heavy had been lifted from my throat. I was free, and it was all thanks to my best friend, who had seen that writing had become something awful for me. I had hated everything that came out of my fingers, and she had seen it.

The second week, I started to get antsy. So I asked if I could read books on writing. She said that would be fine. So I downloaded a book called “Writing Magic” by Gail Carson Levine, one of my favorite authors. Listening to it give me prompts for writing ideas, I started to feel an itch in my fingers.

This third week was hell. I wanted to write so badly I was formulating ideas for the stories I have in the works without any thought whatsoever that this was technically cheating. I even wrote down one of my dreams (I broke my word, how awful!) because it makes a good story prompt. I immediately felt guilty, after all, but when I confessed to my bestie, she said she’d honestly forgotten that she’d grounded me.

Today, I asked, begged, pleaded even with her over whether I could be allowed to get back on the writing train. Because I was going insane. Nothing filled my time the way writing did. Nothing made me feel productive and happy the way writing did. I’d found out that without writing, I felt like I was nothing. Before, I’d been writing as a way of ‘beating my mother’. Now, however, I’m writing because if I don’t, I feel useless and listless and just plain droll.

Not to mention, I was starting to run out of things to read.

So if you ever find yourself loathing everything you write with every fibre of your being? Find someone to ground you from writing. It might just show you how much you love it again.